Medicine Mountain

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Slowly emerging to the surface of consciousness after a
head cold, I notice that my personal world seems slightly altered. I
fought this cold off since the first week in July and finally it caught
me up. Colds, at least in my experience are about much more than an
annoying virus. Last night I recognized that I was depressed and
chalked it up to the cold. This morning I began journalizing about how a
physical lapse can change one’s mood. Then, I also noticed that the
depression was much like the cold itself. I had been fighting it off all
summer with hopeful fantasies and pep talks along with the vitamin C.

Cottonwood Sentinel Above the Horseshoe

A number of dreams merged with dreary cold symptoms of blurred vision
and cloudy consciousness. These were dreams about my childhood home,
parents, and long dead pets that merged their identity seamlessly with
my life now as if homogenized in a psychic blender. I got up yesterday
AM and started reciting to my journal my childhood house address in
Denver, old phone number, pet’s names, then mom’s and dad’s birthdays
lest they disappear forever. Everything becomes transparent dust, as I
grow older. The Great Pyramid at Giza, and the Great Wall of China still
exist though a bit weathered, but most forms are like autumn leaves in
the wind and that includes us. Am I trying to put continuity into my
life or create some relationship between experiences by merging them?
Time moves faster as we grow older and vision blurs as speed increases.
They don’t tell you that when you’re young, or perhaps they do and it
blows over the immortal head of youth.

I started a new painting last week, reached an impasse and then got
sick. That makes sense, though I’m not sure I can explain the logic. I
know there is an obstruction to cross and even though I can’t
consciously identify it, the cold brought it nearer. I go about daily
chores cooking meals, cleaning house, the post office, grocery shopping,
surfing the net, checking Facebook, and for the most part I enjoy it
but still my existence is like an iceberg with 90 percent beneath the
line of visibility. Ours has become a small world. It reminds me of
what life on a tiny island must be like. Then in keeping with the mood,
our neighbor cut down the beautiful glob willow that occupied 80
percent of our Northeastern view. I have an intense connection with
trees, and although I’ve tried to talk myself out of outrage with facts,
it was, after all her tree to do with as she pleased, it still feels
like the murder of a dear friend. This shock increased my moldering
desire to move out of Taos immediately. I often feel left behind like
the one horse tied in the stable while the others went out on a
hunt--jerking against my rope, stomping and neighing, “remember me,
don’t leave me behind,” but it’s mostly internal and I’ve been resisting
the urge to break free. Where would I go, what would I have to give up
forever?

At this point in life, I don’t feel connected to any tradition, culture,
tribe, occupation or religion. There is PQ, his kids and grand kids,
the garden around this house, two cats, and memories that jump about
like a dust devil. My entire life seems defined by an attempt to
uncover a hidden design by carefully uncovering features and background,
noting details, whisking dirt from the treasured objects much as an
archeologist works with a fossil. Yet, what happens when that object
disintegrates to fine dust faster than you can record its discovery. Am I
moving into that stage of life when everything on this dimension is
truly ephemeral and transparent? I suspect this is the truth behind
seemingly important business. We are born, we struggle to learn the
rules of the game, gain some skill and then before we know it, we are
going home after the game. Unlike the games we invent, it’s sometimes
hard to know if we were on the winning or losing team.

I’m right on the edge of unsolicited enlightenment. All the struggles
were unnecessary, the great things (by my standards) I once hoped to
accomplish now require too much future and resources, my particular
talents are fading as the physical instrument ages but the overview is
expanding in all directions. The dividing lines between realities have
become optional. It’s time to observe the next game from the sidelines.
My habitual MO doesn’t work here anymore.

PQ’s doctor informed us yesterday after studying papers from tests done
at National Jewish Hospital, University of Colorado and University of
New Mexico hospitals, (over a hundred pages, he informed us) and last
week’s tests in Espanola that we need to go to Denver soon and either
get on this new drug (he thinks it may be too late for that to be
effective) or preferably get on the transplant list immediately. Of
course, we would rather be going to Cottonwood Arizona than Denver, but
my nostalgic reviews of life in Denver in my dreams, may have more
validity than I would wish. Is it time to go full circle? Where would
we stay? How long would it take? Do I have to think of finding a job
there and if so would I be able to handle it while dealing with the
running around that goes with this kind of long term medical procedure.
We barely make the monthly stretch in energy and money. Where will even
more demands put us?

I suppose news like the Dr. gave us yesterday brings out a flurry of
what if's. It appears that there is a big hill to climb ahead of us, and
I'm feeling burnt out right now, so perhaps It won't be as complicated
as I expect, but nothing has been very easy for some time. Part of my
personal style has been coping with crisis and yet I sure would like to
coast for awhile.

Although we are often blessed with the kindness of friends and
serendipitous events, yet it seems a precarious requirement for
survival. Never being able to see beyond the current month is where you
end up when you live on the edge today. I’m slowly learning that it’s
impossible to live partly on faith, partly on past expectations, and
that practical reality is an illusion. The adventure goes on and the
story will continue.